


today our hands unravel

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Post-Time Skip, foster cat dads, fruit in its purest form as a wingman, someone has a crush, well they did say fanfic was for self indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26258443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Kiyoomi lets the cat out of the bag. No, like,literally, and Hinata can only sigh in defeat.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 32
Kudos: 239





	today our hands unravel

**Author's Note:**

> this is for caro and ~~my super sexy friend~~ jenny who held my hands throughout the whole ordeal (aka me losing my mind everytime i opened my gdocs)

On his 7th birthday, Kiyoomi’s mother pulls him onto her lap as she lays down a carton of clementines on the coffee table with a sparkle in her eye. The light in those warm depths reminds Kiyoomi of the way the freshly washed fruit glistened under the afternoon sun after the day’s worth of cake and well-wishes.

It had been quite a long day, and Kiyoomi was exhausted from the seemingly never ending flow of family friends and relatives who dropped by their house, leaving him with gifts and a chorus of _You’ve grown taller, Kiyoomi-kun!_

Now, with everyone finally gone, they are left with the lull hum of the air conditioner, working its magic to keep the unusual and sudden summer heat at bay. The afternoon sun had started to sink, bathing their living room in serene tangerine pink.

“Look at the size of that one, mama!” he giggles excitedly at the largest piece of fruit in the bowl like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on.

“That is a clementine, dear,” she chuckles as she nuzzles her soft curls against Kiyoomi’s cheek, earning a shy giggle from her son. 

“Kiyoomi, do you want to see something really cool?” 

He nodded furiously and clasped his hands together in childlike anticipation. His mother pushed herself off the couch to sit beside the center table, with Kiyoomi closely hopping along after her.

She plucked the stem off one of the clementines and handed it over to him. Kiyoomi curiously turned it around in his hand, barely grasping the entirety of it. He decided that it looked like the sun was in his hands. He took another piece of fruit and held them up to his eyes.

“Look at me mama, I’m Pororo!” He declares as peals of laughter shake his small frame.

His mother’s face splits into a knowing smile as she takes the fruit from his hands. Carefully, he watches as the fruit came undone, his mother’s steady hands pulling and making tiny cuts on the rind with her fingertips. She places the slices neatly on a platter and continues working her magic on the flesh.

They continue to work in silence with Kiyoomi keeping an attentive eye on his mother’s hands as she forms circle after circle, cutting on the insides, and then out; snipping the layers into lines thick and thin.  


Kiyoomi was starting to get antsy. He’d spent the past few minutes shifting his weight from one foot to another, wondering what the orange peel would look like.

“Tada! It’s a sunflower,” She smiles just as Kiyoomi was about to ask, taking the stem and tucking it behind Kiyoomi’s ear. The smell of citrus wafted in the air and tingled against his nose.

“Whoa! This is so cool mama! Can you teach me how to do it?” Kiyoomi takes the sunflower from his ear, pressing his nose against the pleasant tangy smell.

“Of course. One day, you might just find someone you would want to share oranges with,” His mother responds with a wink, “someone from your class, maybe.”

 _What does that even mean?_ Kiyoomi scrunches his nose in disapproval. He picks up a slice and takes a bite. 

She pinched his nose and told him how _the best things in life are meant to be shared; the way Papa always makes coffee for two; the way the sun always shares its warmth with the flowers._

_But I already have you and papa. Motoya too._

_I know dear. You’ll get it when you’re older._

He wasn’t too sure he understood, but something in his mother’s eyes told him he would someday, like all grownups say.

  


* * *

  


Kiyoomi is on his way home from the neighborhood convenience store when he sees a muddied rucksack sitting innocently enough on the freshly-cut grass. Dewy grass stalks sway with the temperamental lull of the river across the stark contrast of the clinical row of apartments to which he was headed. 

The Jackals had just closed the season with a victory. Before he knew it, he had more time on his hands than he expected, easing into habits, new and old, along the way like he does with every season ender.

On any other uneventful day, he wouldn’t have paid it any mind. But as he takes a few more steps on the sidewalk, he swears he sees it move, whatever the _thing_ is. Walking the streets of Tokyo in the early mornings of June had him sweating down to his soles, but an odd curiosity about the object in the grass starts to burn even hotter inside him.

Heaving a sigh that carries the weight of the world, he stalks towards the strange sight before him. He crouches down until his knees touch the grass and gingerly lifts the other side of the cloth, which reveals a pair of sharp amber eyes framed by matted black fur. He lets out a small gasp, warm breath fogging his mask as his mind starts to work overtime. It’s a _kitten_ , and it looks to be no older than a few days old, shivering harshly despite the unforgiving summer heat. 

He stares at it, unmoving, running simulations through his mind.

Sure, he isn’t the superstitious nor the religious type, but aren’t black cats supposed to be unlucky? As he straightens back up, he considers shooting Motoya a text, but immediately regrets even thinking about it. It would start an inevitable deluge of questions and teasing that ends with his cousin inviting himself over to squat in his apartment and take care of the poor thing, and he isn’t entirely too enthused about that idea. 

Despite this aborted mission, his questions still remain. How do you even take care of a cat? Maybe he can ask somebody in the team for tips? But _who_? Inunaki was a dog purist, and the captain had his hands full enough as it is. Bokuto would jump at the idea, but he isn’t too sure if Akaashi-san would appreciate getting paw prints on his manga, and Atsumu had to help Osamu out with Miya Onigiri’s Hyogo branch for the weekend.

He shifts the weight of the plastic bag on his arm and catches a glimpse of the glossy orange carton of fresh clementines he’d bought earlier. He grabs his pocket hankie from his pant leg and dabs on the beads of sweat forming on his brow. _Think, Kiyoomi, think._

For a moment, he considers asking Hinata for help. He waves the thought away even more quickly than asking Motoya. He isn’t about to let another one of the team’s little gremlins loose in his home.

Looking like a constipated overripe banana in his hoodie with his hands on his hips, he finds himself hunched over the little creature looking up at him expectantly. He holds its gaze, and feels like they both have the exact same question in mind.

_What now?_

  


* * *

  


Hinata Shoyou had tiptoed into Sakusa Kiyoomi’s life with the gentleness of a summer breeze: scorching and unyielding; mercifully passionate in all things volleyball, and even more things beyond.

Sure, he had heard of him, seeing how Atsumu couldn’t be bothered to shut up about him joining the team anytime soon. (And unfortunately this meant listening to Atusmu and Bokuto talk about a certain Hinata Shouyou for the entirety of three months before the person in question even showed his face in their practice gym.) 

Despite the annoying precedent to this arrival, he can get used to a new teammate easily enough. They get promising rookies year after year, and he takes to them in his own routine with minimal fuss. He knows how it’s going to play out all too well: they meet for the first time, train, draw boundaries, and set expectations which may or may not be met with quizzical looks. Nothing new, nothing special, and the earth is still on its axis, spinning like clockwork. 

But it turns out that this is not how it plays out _at all_. What he’s trying to say is he doesn’t know how he was supposed to react to someone who responds with an “It’s nice to meet you, Kiyoomi-san!” after being greeted with a grunt and a simple nod, not even a slight handshake.

He waits for Hinata to realize that meeting him isn’t as nice as he says, because the first thing Kiyoomi says to him when he joins the team is, “Oh, if it isn’t Mr. I got a fever and had to get benched.”

You know, like a normal person. No biggie.

But since Hinata is nice, he chooses to laugh at him instead, a sweet sound that bounces off the emptying gym as they continue to do their cool-down stretches, like a shared secret.

For a fleeting moment, he feels the sheen of his sweat lingering a tad too long on his palms. He wipes them inauspiciously on the hem of his shorts and bends deeper into his straightened legs.

  


* * *

  


Hinata had been on the home stretch of his daily morning run when he comes across a Sakusa Kiyoomi-shaped figure crouched down on the ground across the street. Unsure if he’s seeing things correctly, he slows down to a jog, then to a walk. And finally to a halt.

No, he’s fairly certain he knows who it is. Which is strange, for two reasons: the first one being the uncharacteristic proximity between said Kiyoomi-shaped figure and the grimy concrete; the second one being the poorly concealed bulk in the figure’s jacket. 

But then again, Sakusa Kiyoomi was a man of, let’s say, _unconventional preferences_ , so this really shouldn’t be surprising.

In a fleeting state of panic but mostly just out of personal interest, Hinata jogs across the deserted streets and approaches the human lump still crouched to the ground, and places a featherlight hand on his shoulder. He can’t help but snicker at the fleeting comparison between his silhouette and the poorly-shaped sandcastles he’d built in Rio with Tooru.

“Excuse me, are you okay?”

The man whips his head around so fast it definitely reminds Hinata of a certain wing spiker on his team with freakishly flexible wrist muscles. Lean, defined hamstrings, too. He can name a certain someone from the Jackals who was _fascinatingly limber_ , to say the least.

Wide dark eyes meet Hinata’s own, and he catches the curious glimpse of a flush creeping above the edge of the other’s mask. 

_Aha._

“Oh, it’s Omi-san after all,” Hinata beams cheerfully, “What are you doing-”

Kiyoomi wordlessly cuts him off as he jumps to his feet and tries to maneuver his way around Hinata, ignoring whatever came out of his mouth. He sidesteps his escape, in what he thought to be quite the clever ploy to avoid further interrogation, and fails. Miserably. Hinata was already one step ahead, blocking his escape route with both arms wide open. 

Great. He just had to run into Mister Ninja Shouyou. 

Before either of them could speak, a pair of cat-like eyes peer from the cardboard carton in Kiyoomi’s arms. He’d left the clementines loose earlier in the grocery bag to make room for the kitten. 

Wait no, scratch _cat-like_. That _is_ a cat. Inside the box. In Sakusa Kiyoomi’s arms.

“Um….”

“Omi-san, are you taking that cat home with you?!” Hinata exclaims in surprise.

Color draining from his face, Kiyoomi avoids Hinata’s expectant gaze and responds dryly, “I guess the cat’s out of the bag, huh.” 

It’s too late to take the frankly _terrible_ words back, so he settles on mentally smacking his face with one of Atsumu’s nasty serves. 

He’s expecting the other to laugh it off with a “ _Silly Omi-san_ ”, allowing them both to go on with their otherwise uneventful day.

But Hinata doesn’t. The silence starts to make his hairs stand on end, even more so when he accidentally lifts his eyes to see Hinata’s blank face and pursed lips as he looks squarely back at him.

God knows they keep eye contact for what feels like an eternity. Neither of them break the silence. And as it grows, Kiyoomi feels a distinct crimson heat drip from his ears and down to the uncomfortable pool of warmth in his chest.

“Hinata. Hey, say something.”

“Really, Omi-san? The cat. Is out. Of the bag.”

“Deadass.”

“Deadass?” Hinata snorts.

“Yeah, deadass. You know, like—“ Kiyoomi runs a frustrated hand through his hair in an attempt to explain.

“Yeah, no, I get it. I know what it means,” Hinata lowers his arms with a hearty laugh and meets Kiyoomi’s half-hearted glare with his mirthful own, adding one more “deadass” that sends him into another fit of laughter.

“Is it really that funny?” Kiyoomi snaps. 

“Is it really that funny?” Hinata mimics childishly.

Kiyoomi huffs, letting a small chuckle escape his well-masked features. He lets himself ease into the habit of listening to Hinata laugh. It reminds him of wind chimes swaying in the midsummer breeze, saying: _come, make yourself at home._

Hinata’s head snaps up in surprise as he’s in the middle of wiping his tears away. He looks away, embarrassed, and weakly tugs at his hoodie to fan himself. _Are Tokyo summers usually this hot?_

Kiyoomi clicks his tongue against his teeth. He’s sweating more than usual and he feels a bit lightheaded. Dehydration, he surmises.

He isn’t entirely too sure about the look he’d had on his face then, but seeing how Hinata rushes to take the improvised cot from his arms, it couldn’t have been, well, pleasant.

Hinata cautiously adjusts his hold on the box, slender fingers brushing against his own, palpitant. He grips Hinata’s hands firmly as he hands the box over, just to make sure she doesn’t fall.

He’s met with an understanding nod just before Hinata starts to coo at the little thing in his arms. Kiyoomi releases the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding and openly stares, at nothing and at everything at the same time.

The sun finally breaches the trees and buildings to the east and bathes Hinata in its golden hues where he stands. It claims him as one of its own. 

Hinata curiously peeks at him through eyelashes set ablaze and whispers, “Cat got your tongue, Omi-san?”

In this moment so small and brief, he takes with him half the sweetness of the summer sky they share, making the most out of the world that exists only then and there.

Kiyoomi feels his cheeks burn and an unfamiliar sensation floods his body, courses through his fingertips, and he finds himself meeting Hinata’s gaze halfway. He feels himself teetering on the tightrope of a newfound warmth, acknowledging each other in knowing silence. 

Hinata has always met him halfway, both on and off the court. A blazing force to be reckoned with though he is, Hinata somehow always knows when and where to draw the line and mind the gaps.

But Kiyoomi thinks, if at this very moment, an unmarked ticket fell from the sky and slapped him across the forehead with the promise of it taking him to even warmer skies, he knows where it would take him.

It would take him home; and in this moment he knows he has everything he’d take with him. 

So he does. The honk of a nearby train sears the air.

  


* * *

  


“I’m home,” they declare in unison as they step inside Kiyoomi’s apartment, kicking their shoes off by the doormat. Hinata’s hand flies over his mouth. 

Somehow, they end up in Kiyoomi’s apartment a mere few blocks away from Hinata’s. After a long debate on whether they should put the kitten up for adoption, Hinata managed to convince Kiyoomi to take her in until they found the right family for her.

He turns to look at him questioningly as he stows their shoes away.

“Oops. Force of habit, I guess?” Hinata explains sheepishly, willing the gnawing warmth blooming in his nape away and looking at everything but him.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” Kiyoomi waves a hand dismissively. His voice trails off, and _‘not if it’s you’_ hangs on the tip of his tongue, heavy and unspoken. 

Kiyoomi means what he says. Or what he was about to say. He knows he can rely on Hinata, that’s really all there is to it. He’s always been able to count on him to cover for his botched receives and short passes, after all. He’s always right where he needed him to be.

He would never say it out loud, but the promise of Hinata helping him out and coming over “every once in a while” to help him take care of the kitten had been all it took for him to agree to this half-cooked foster plan. 

Blissfully unaware of the fact that Kiyoomi is about to short circuit in the same spot he’s stood in for the past few minutes, Hinata scans the expanse of his living room, pointing out the odd plant or two.

He scurries off to busy himself with turning the air conditioner on and instructing Hinata to leave his things on the couch.

“Make yourself comfortable and don’t go snooping in my room.”

“Hey!”

Hinata grins as Kiyoomi stomps away. He doesn't miss how the tips of Kiyoomi’s ears seem to mimic the tender pink of the kitten mewling inside the clementine carton.

  


* * *

  


It is mid-afternoon when they find themselves and a pile of miscellaneous supplies sprawled across the living room carpet. Kiyoomi included. They have been working on building a makeshift home for the newest Sakusa tenant with Kiyoomi’s old jumpers and shoeboxes, transforming them into a kitty bed that would hopefully serve as a warm shelter.

Hinata had been surprisingly keen on finding the right spot and took charge in establishing the _floor plan_ , as he called it, earning a derisive snort from Kiyoomi accompanied by a “Yeah right.” 

Hinata laughs to the gentle tune of wind against bells and sticks his tongue out. _Cute_ , Kiyoomi murmurs, loud enough for the kitten. _I’m home_ , he whispers, willing the wind to carry his words with it, to wherever it should be.

They began their extreme home makeover with Kiyoomi, armed with a pair of fabric scissors and a Posca marker flanking Hinata with his cardboard cutouts and packing tape in their mission to build Little Miss Kitten the crib of her newborn dreams. 

“Omi-san, can you hand me the marker?” Hinata asks, hands on his hips, tapping a pencil to his chin.

“Uh huh. Are you bossing me around? In my own home, Hinata-kun?” he deadpans, voice laced with sugar and just a tiny hint of spice.

“Please, Omi-san. With a cherry on top and all that,” Hinata looks up to him with a pout, batting his eyelashes at Kiyoomi.

Okay, that catches him quite off guard, and a not-so-well-hidden snicker escapes from his lips. 

He fills the gaps with words, with sound, because at this very moment, it’s all he can do. He knows better than to trust the stillness in the air, carrying with it seeds of sunburst, ready to plant itself deep in the flowerbeds of his being.

“Do you think this will be enough to keep her warm?”

“This will have to do for now. We can get her a new bed later. Probably.”

“Oh sure! I’ll go with you. I’d love to help pick a new bed for her, Omi-san,” Hinata winks at him playfully.

Kiyoomi takes a second too long to realize his mistake and his brain marvels at this stupid realization. Way to go.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he shrugs.

“Asshole.”

He’s not smiling. He swears.  
  


* * *

  


Having relieved themselves of fabric clippings and marker stains on their fingers, they sit in the living room in comfortable silence. Hinata is beside him carrying a tune that reminds him of a place far away, unvisited yet longed for. Inexplicably, the journey to said place feels like the distance spanning an arm’s width, the distance spanning an arm’s reach.

“Omi-san, have you thought of giving her a name?” Hinata asks absentmindedly, plucking a piece of newly discovered loose thread from the carpet, watching as it coils and unravels, swaying in the summer breeze swelling through the wind chimes on Kiyoomi’s front porch.

The wind sits still and rests itself against Kiyoomi’s feet, a weight comfortable yet strange. A few beats later, it picks up again. He keeps his eyes trained on Hinata’s hands as the thread twists and turns; as he tugs and pulls.

He doesn’t speak. He senses a pair of eyes trained on the side of his face, waiting. He hums deep in thought, “I don’t know,” he finally shrugs. “Why don’t you give her one?”

It’s Hinata’s turn to hum in response, tapping a slender finger to his chin. One, then two, and then three. Kiyoomi keeps a mental tally. Four, five, six. 

He snaps out of his reverie and opens his mouth to speak.

“Aha! I think we should call her Umeko-chan,” Hinata beams proudly, as if on cue.

“Umeko? Really? Why not stick to a more common name like, I don’t know, Mari?”

“You told me to name her didn’t you?” comes the indignant retort.

“Okay, fair.”

“Besides, it reminds me of you.”

“What did you say? Stop mumbling.”

Kiyoomi, as calmly as his heart allows, does a double take, facing Hinata to ask him if he heard correctly. _How does he know?_ He turns to see Hinata avoiding his gaze, head tucked between his knees.

The summer heat, among other things, is sweltering and relentless.

  


* * *

  


“Finally!” Hinata yawns as he slumps down the plush terracotta carpet. Kiyoomi hovers beside him, still standing as they eagerly await Umeko-chan’s grand entrance towards her new fortress.

“I hope she likes it,” Kiyoomi whispers nervously. 

Hinata looks up at him with pursed lips, “I don’t think she will,” he replies with a pause, “She’s gonna love it, Omi-san!” 

Hinata pats the spot beside him, “Sit with me.” 

Kiyoomi looks down at him with disdain. He would very much prefer to lounge on the sofa in all its regularly sanitized glory. Hinata makes a face at him and starts gathering the smaller cuttings and debris caught in the plush coils of carpet he’d been planning to vacuum later.

“Okay come, it’s clean now. See,” Hinata invites him over with a nod as he securely ties the top of the plastic bag.

Kiyoomi wrestles with his brain. If he’s thinking candidly, the germs on the floor are the least of his concerns right now. But he doesn’t say that out loud.

So he plops down and settles into a comfortable position, putting just the right amount of distance between them. He’s careful about this, because one centimeter too close and Hinata just might hear the pulsing pitter-patter rumbling in his chest. He makes a distinct mental note for later: _Send Motoya a text and ask about possible family history of heart disease._

He grabs a clementine from the otherwise decorative bowl of fruit on his mahogany centerpiece and starts peeling. Right now, all he can do is peel. He cuts off the stem with a thorough hand and peels the only way he knows how; the way his mother had taught him to on a warm afternoon like this one, on a plush floor like this one, with a foreign ecstatic warmth bubbling in his chest _like this one._

He feels the ridges of his fingernails dig into the tender rind, and feels that it’s ripe enough. He steals a furtive glance at Hinata playing with Umeko-chan, and feels that it’s ready to be shared. Kiyoomi mentally divides the clementine into hemispheres, and he peels. He peels for one, taking a piece and biting into it, a burst of orange trickling against the pallor of his outstretched palm. 

Wiping his hands on a wet towel, he turns to see Hinata holding an outstretched finger against Umeko’s tiny fangs and feigning hurt whenever she tries to bite down. Kiyoomi rests a hand against his own cheek as he resists the urge to reach out and satiate the ever-present curiosity in his brain wondering if Hinata was as warm as the sunshine bouncing off his hair. So he takes another clementine from the bowl and peels.

“Hinata, here,” He holds his hand out, fruit in hand.

“I’m not a dog but thank you, Omi-san! You didn’t have to.” 

Hinata laughs as he takes it from his hand. There is something about the way Hinata looks at him from the corner of his eyes with a lazy smile leaves him at a loss.

“It’s no big deal. You don’t have to look so happy over a dumb fruit,” he grumbles.

“Whatever you say, Grumpy-oomi!” Hinata sticks his tongue out, taking the clementine apart piece by piece, letting Umeko suckle on the droplets of juice trickling down his finger.

Kiyoomi swallows thickly, his eyes mirroring the clouds shrouding the afternoon in overcast titian. 

He dismisses this as a mere concern for proper hygiene. Besides, we shouldn’t share our food with animals.

Hinata moves to lay flat on his back, close enough for his bright tangerine hair to brush against the faded gray of Kiyoomi’s sweatpants. Without a sound, Hinata looks at him and opens his mouth, revealing his signature megawatt smile, eyes overcast with a feeling he can’t quite put his finger on. Kiyoomi feels his breath hitch, and so he peels for two. He pares another slice and guides a shaky hand to Hinata’s awaiting lips. He watches as the fruit disappears between Hinata’s lips and it grazes along the pads of his fingers. 

Kiyoomi continues to peel, yet the fruit is long gone and all that is left is the knots in his stomach unraveling and revealing. 

He eventually learns what it means to share in silence, the only way he knows how; the way his sun shines down on the seeds of sunburst rooted in the whole of him.

Hinata gives him a small smile and a word of thanks, as he rolls over to stretch, stifling a yawn.

Before he knows what he’s doing, his hand flies out to ruffle the tangerine mop of hair mirroring the earthen flooring. A flurry of emotions course through his veins and it feels like, for a fraction of a second, he holds the earth’s fire in his hands.

Hinata‘s eyes shoot up to meet Kiyoomi’s startled face. He recoils and pulls his hand back. He doesn’t miss the way Hinata’s face falls. Or so he thinks. Or so he would like to think.

“Um, I didn’t mean to do that. Sorry. Let me get her something to eat,” he manages to say, his voice trailing off with each passing word. He pushes himself up and turns to attempt escape for the second time this day but finds himself held in place with Hinata’s firm grip on his wrist, pulling him down.

“Look at her. She’s asleep. Stay,” Hinata whispers. He wants to think that Hinata says this because Umeko-chan _is_ already sound asleep and they have to be quiet. But a part of him also wants to think otherwise. So he does; and he stays. 

Having Hinata around is making him think way more than usual, Kiyoomi realizes with a grumble, pulling a throw pillow from the couch and hugging it to himself. He wonders if falling into new routines has stopped coming to him as easily as it did before.

He sits up stiffly, and tries to look at anything else but _him_ , who is now laying flat on the carpet with his shirt riding up, exposing the small of his well-defined back.

Hinata looks absolutely ethereal in the light of the afternoon sun filtering through the curtains. Kiyoomi isn’t entirely too sure if he believes in beings beyond the stratosphere, but the man next to him certainly comes close, with golden skin looking like God himself came down and kissed it.

He isn’t entirely sure how long he had been arguing with himself on how the gods and Hinata Shouyou could possibly be related, but he is radioed back to Earth with the sound of slow and steady breathing. The steady rise and fall of his chest. One beat up, pause, down. Up, pause, down.

Careful not to wake Hinata up, he scoots closer and peers over his shoulder. His eyes trace over the wrinkles in his forehead down to the slope of his nose, and further down to the curve of his jaw. Eyes going up, pause, then down.

He could blame it on the atmosphere. He could blame it on the way the sun god danced its way across the hills and valleys of Hinata Shouyou. He might as well just leave it to the off-chance of getting caught up in the mood. 

But he doesn’t. He sets the pillow he didn’t even realize he was clutching to for dear life (or sanity) on the ground, loose fabric clippings and fruit rind be damned. 

He dreams of orange hair and tangled limbs. He dreams of a house built on things held dear: a freshly brewed coffee pot for two; bowls of fresh fruit on the dinner table.

  


* * *

  


The sun gods smile down on two figures huddled together on the terracotta plains of plush carpet, arms crossing torsos like rivers snaking into the open sea.

**Author's Note:**

> well that was it for my first ever attempt at writing lol  
> i saw a fanart of omihina taking a nap together and just...floored it..


End file.
